


Familiar & Foreign

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 4am is a good time for writing, Assumed that the mercs didn't share backstory, Companionship, Find it kinda funny, Find it kinda sad, Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome, Gen, Heavy accommodates, Heavy/Medic - Freeform, Mentions of Aussie wildlife, Missing scene/conversation from comics, Scout doesn't care, Scout has difficulty focusing in silence, about jail, bad time for being caught up tho, during long bike ride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8416846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: Travelling across the Australian Outback to Uluru, Scout & Heavy have a much longer conversation than was originally shown in the comics. Where they begin to realise that the other man isn't so different to them after all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It just always felt like they couldn't have kept silent the entire way there after the whole 'Spy's your father' conversation killer.  
> Also, the mentioned wildlife is real. Cassowaries are dangerous as hell, and I have personally fought a drop bear cluster (term for familial groups).   
> Do not come here, it is too dangerous for you.

“Yes, your father disappears often.” Heavy concluded, tone factual and a little bit mischievous. Though his face would never show it.

 

In return, Scout nearly flips over the handlebars in surprise as he tries to express the myriad of emotions,  _ a stunning rainbow of angered disbelief through to obstinate refusal _ , that course through him at the statement.

 

“Hey,” he threatens, “My dad’s dead. He disappeared, without a trace,  _ a long time ago _ . That was a thing that happened, and we ain’t gonna mess up dat memory - _ which totally happened _ \- by pretending that masked bastard has any kinda attachment ta me. Alright?”

 

He can practically hear the Russian’s amusement in the stilted, monosyllabic reply of “ _ Da _ .”

  
  


And then, it’s silent. Too silent.

 

In every direction, barren sands in shifting palettes of yellow, orange and red; interspersed here and there with small rocks, large ant mounds, sparse tufts of dead grass, the occasional tree, and scurrying things that hissed and could only be seen in your peripheral vision. Scout had heard horror stories about this fucking country from Sniper; the sharpshooter had a big old bite mark on his arm from something called a ‘Drop Bear’.

Scout kinda never wanted to know that there was no way ta tell if ya were looking at a koala or it’s carnivorous cousin, until it sunk it’s teeth inta ya flesh… but Sniper told him anyway. Kept mentioning that the best way to protect yaself was with something called vegemite… or get ahold of some Aussie’s piss and use that like cologne. 

The lanky man had smacked the runner, when the younger man laughed and said that he wasn’t really inta whatever kinky shit Sniper was.

 

Looking back on it, he almost kinda wished he had listened. 

But at the very least, he had Heavy watching his back; which counted for something, at least. Pretty sure whatever the hell a cassowary was, ain’t likely to attack if the big guy was standing four feet away. Ditto on whatever the hell a  _ yowie _ was. 

  
  


His knee began to bounce, and he bit his lip. 

Maybe the others thought he was annoying when he ran his mouth all the time, but he kinda had no choice; it was like being the human version of a shaken soda. Sure, ya can clamp a hand over the top for a minute, but something’s still reacting inside.

 

Didn’t help that their destination, the  _ big-ass rock in the middle of this crazy-ass country _ , had been in plain view for several hours already. And it never once got even the tiniest bit closer, no matter how long they drove towards the fucking thing.

 

He was going out of his mind without any sort of stimulation, verbal or otherwise. Something had to give; or the Bostonian was going to crash the fucking bike, just ta see if that’d make the trip more interesting. Even the thought of Miss Pauling being proud of them for completing the mission wasn’t enough, right now. 

 

_ Miss P _ … just the vague thought of her name conjured the woman herself. And that’s when a recent memory sprung back like an overstretched rubber band; and his mind danced all over the place, connecting thoughts and ideas, some defined and others abstract, together with that moment. 

_Miss P… Heavy’s Family… his own… pain…_ also, hotdogs.

No matter how profound his thoughts, the hotdogs always seemed to slide in there, since Siberia and the bear thing. Damn, now he wanted one… but they just ate.

 

No, focus. Focus. 

 

Fuck it, he had ta talk or he was gonna steer them inta a tree or something as his mind went off on it’s own tangent. 

  
  
  


“So…” Scout enters into the long pause, trying to be conversational and not give away his losing battle with attentiveness to piloting their speeding vehicle, “ya sisters, huh?”

  
  


He can actually feel the man behind shift slightly on the bike, that stony Russian glare burning twin holes into the back of the batter’s neck. 

If Scout wasn’t the only one of them able ta drive the bike right now, he was downright certain the larger man would have torn him to shreds, and left the vestiges of his corpse out in the Australian outback for ‘wildlife tucker’. Heh, wonder how long he’d take to decompose? Could always ask Miss P when they got-... _ shit!  _

 

He blinks, steadying the bike as they hit an unexpected rock and it sent them wobbling a little.

When they’d recovered sufficiently, the man behind him spoke.

  
  


“You vill  _ not _ speak of sisters. Zhanna showed too much interest already, do not want leetle man near other sisters.” Heavy ground out. With his raging inferno of emotion practically pressing against Scout’s spine, the larger man suddenly felt  _ way _ too close for the runner’s liking. Not like there was any getting away, though.

  
  


Focus. Talk. Talk and Focus. Ya can do that, champ. 

Talking was grounding. Fiddling was grounding.

 

“Hey, fer one, ya sister was coming onta  _ me _ … I was busy havin’ one helluva freakout over this weird dream-thing I had after nearly dyin’ in Amelia Earhart’s hotdog suit!” Scout defends, resisting the urge to take his hands off the handlebars and gesture emphatically. So he talked with his hands, sue him.

 

The malevolent glare from behind seemed to intensify.

  
  


Sensing, for once, that he may have shoved his foot in his mouth again around the big guy… Scout dropped his tone a bit, inadvertently making the other strain to hear over the mechanical and natural sounds around them. “ _ Dat… wasn’t what I meant, though. Just came out wrong _ .”

 

For a moment, all that either can hear is the whistling of scorching wind as it streamed past; there really wasn’t all that much ta say. Every conversational topic that sprang ta mind was either a taunt or bait ta piss the big guy off, get him riled up and yelling so Scout would have something to focus on. Of course they’d work… but at what cost?

After all, Heavy’d fought a fucking huge-ass bear and taken them back ta his house after, made sure they were fed and stitched up and shit. He didn’t really wanna antagonise the guy… but he couldn’t think of anything else.

 

Well, he could. But that was kinda… personal. His brothers’d call that kinda conversation pansy-ish; and he ain’t no damn girl.

  
  


He feels a hand on his shoulder, and realises he probably hasn’t been speaking or reacting for a concerning amount of time, by now… if lardass was deigning ta touch him.

 

“Leetle man?” Heavy enquires, and the change of tone from angry to gentle, highlights that the other has clearly been trying to gain his attention for a bit. He doesn’t ask if Scout’s alright, or anya that sorta thing, didn’t hafta; the guy had that same tone his Ma and brothers’d use if they were trying ta get him ta tell’em what was wrong. Whose ass ta kick for his bruised face or something like dat.

 

He sighs. “Ain’t nothing big guy. Ferget it.”

 

Focus on the weird dirt road thing, and the huge fuckin’ rock. Focus.

  
  


“Perhaps leetle Scout could explain vhat he meant, vhat is on mind, then?” Heavy offers, surprising him a little. 

Normally by now, he was shunted through the Respawn system for being way too annoying, or someone’d just plain old tossed him outta the room. Well, Sniper tended to listen to Scout’s shit on occasion, but then ya never really knew if the Aussie was  _ really _ paying attention to ya… or just kinda tuned ya words out, so’s he could have some background noise while cleaning dat gun’a his.

 

“Nah, don’t matter. I was just thinkin’ some weird stuff, sorta about ya sisters, but not like…  _ dat _ . Nothin’ sexy or weird. It was just… doesn’t matter. I know it ain’t ya _ fort-hey _ , but how ‘bout ya talk fer a bit.” Scout offers, changing the subject.

 

He thinks Heavy nods, but naturally… he can’t see it. 

 

“Da, of course. Vill talk… by asking vhat about sisters has tiny little rabbit so quiet.”

  
  


_ Sonova- _ … the rooskie out-maneuvered him!

 

“Okay, first off… I dunno why you guys won’t let up with the freakin’ rabbit thing. First Spy, then Medic, then flippin’ Pyro… and now you. Yeah, I got buck teeth, like no one’s ever called me a damn bunny before ‘cause’a it... “ he’s flailing a hand a bit in frustration, mentally counting off the ways he’s going to kill Spy when he gets his hands on the masked bastard, and they’re wobbling about the road a bit. “An’ another thing, it’s not really about ya sisters, it’s kinda about you…”

 

Wait, that didn’t come out right.

 

Oh, of course, Heavy’s laughing his giant ass off at him. “Oh ho, leetle Scout… am flattered, but, vould not vant to break Doktor’s heart.” the Russian teases.

 

Unseen by his passenger, Scout rolls his eyes. “Ya know dat ain’t what I meant. Also, I’m surprised ya would go for someone… his age, when ya got alla dis here ta look at.” He gestures magnanimously with a hand at all of him, grinning as the mood lightens.

 

“Vhere? Vhere is all of this? Can only see small child, vith bunny teeth.” Heavy retorts in an incredulous tone; sending the batter into a spluttering mess as he searches for a good comeback. Managing to refrain from laughing at the red-faced runner and his half-formed insults for a few seconds, before giving into the impulse and guffawing loudly.

  
  


“C’mon man…” Scout whines, “Ya just hafta admit dat I gotta lot goin’ on here and ya not sure ya could handle it, so’s ya went for Medic. Right? See, gotcha all figured out, huh?”

 

The loud snort that the Russian barely deigned to turn into an incredibly fake-cough, was response enough to that statement. But at least, silliness aside, the atmosphere wasn’t so damn tense anymore… and that helped. 

 

He could focus.

  
  


“Did you vant to talk about my sisters now?” invites the Russian, a peaceful entreaty between the two mercenaries, as they sped towards the rock-that-never-got-closer.

 

Scout mulled it over for a moment, skillfully swerving about a sudden flood of weird umbrella-lizard-things that dashed across the road, before replying. “Yeah, maybe.”

And then there was quiet for a minute, long enough for his knee ta start bouncing again.

  
  


“Heavy… when ya were with us all at da bases an’ stuff, didja miss ya sisters and ya ma?” He finally asks, eyes focused dead ahead, on that impossible-to-reach destination. Not quite daring ta glance back.

 

“Da.” Comes the automatic reply. “Heavy missed them very much when helping leetle teammates fight BLU baby men. Vas vorried that they vere not safe, alone, even though sisters are very strong and could fight many bears vithout my help.”

 

“Why didja think they ain’t gonna be safe, if ya weren’t worried bout alla da freaky-big bears?” Scout questions, curious, and hoping to keep the conversation solely reliant on Heavy’s input, rather than his own.

  
  


“Have told you of gulag, da? Men alvays hunting us, vant revenge for our freedom, for stopping them from hurting others. People can be cruel, leetle Scout, did not vant mamushka and sisters to suffer more than they had. Vanted to keep them safe, by coming to fight for RED, sending money home. Vanted to be there, more than that.” Heavy answers truthfully.

 

There’s a lull, and Scout’s suddenly thinking that maybe he and the big guy ain’t so different after all. Pangs of familiarity and sympathy,  _ an uncomfortable feeling at the best of times for the young man _ , make his chest tight. He jiggles an ankle slightly, on the footrest; biting his bottom lip, thinking deeply.

  
  
  


“Yeah,” he finally exhales after a tense ninety seconds of pure contemplative silence. “I could see how much ya cared when we were dere, big guy. Ya sisters seemed nice, a bit scary, kinda like you, but nice. Ta be honest, Zhanna kinda  _ scares da hell outta me _ , but since she found Soldier she ain’t so bad. I…”

 

He pauses, under the pretence of navigating a small dip in the road with extra care. Heavy pretends not to notice the lull in conversation at the crux of something personal.

  
  


“...dere’s eight’a us, and Ma. She had eight boys, never once got da girl she wanted. I mean, she never said anything ta us, but we always knew she wanted a little her ta teach how ta cook ‘n sew ‘n kill a man with one hand tied b’hind her back. Dat sorta girly stuff.” He huffs a quiet laugh, one lost on his backseat passenger in the wind. “Taught it all ta us, though. None’a us will ever have an excuse not ta help around da house, or fix our own torn clothes or get da blood outta whatever we went fightin’ in. And ya seen what I can do with a bat,  _ dat’s all her doin’ _ . But… just before alla dis went ta hell, Ma sent me a letter, and she was real excited ta tell me something… couldn’t wait till I got home ta lemme know dat she thought numbah nine was gonna be a sister.”

 

He snorts. “It was a surprise, findin’ out I ain’t gonna be da youngest no more. But she’s about as subtle as I am, mosta da time… so it was excitin’ but also a bit, freaky.”

  
  
  


“Do you know, now? Or still vaiting to know?” smiled Heavy, remembering the day he first met his little sister Zhanna for the first time. He’d thought he’d be disappointed at the lack of a brother to roughhouse with, but one look at her tiny face all scrunched up as she wailed at the world… and Misha had been smitten. And Zhanna was always an excellent sparring partner.

  
  


“I… nah, boy or girl, dey’re born already. Think Spy found out, when we were stuck in jail, but if he did, the bastard wouldn’t tell me.” The younger mercenary sighs heavily. “Ever since we went ta find ya, and ended up stayin’ with ya family, I keep thinkin’ ‘about mine… mosta my brothers are away now, for work or study or da army, and one or two are dead by now and someone’s in jail fer some stupid shit, but dey woulda all come ta meet him or her. Did when I was born, apparently. An’ I shoulda been dere too… thought da whole thing shutting down right around the time I needed a holiday, was great timing.”

 

“Ah, can understand disappointment. Did you not write to tell mamushka of…” Heavy actually paused, frowning. “ _ Vait _ , vhy vere you and Spy in jail? Vhen did this happen?”

  
  


Scout nearly chokes on the hysterical laugh that explodes. “Oh my gawd, dat’s right, I forgot ta tell ya ‘bout it. Okay, so like, on the day we were leaving I had my arms in the casts, right? So’s I couldn’t go to the bank and grab my stuff out, before I went home ‘n all, so there I was pesterin’ Spy ta give me a ride, and he complained but finally said ‘ _ yeah _ ’. But when we got in the bank, some’a those whackos in Teufort decided ta panic and lock us in the vault, ‘cause we’re in- _ famous _ ‘n popular or something. Den we got locked up in jail for like five or six months, it’s a bit messy… and Spy and I had ta get ta know each other a little too well ‘cause my arms were broken and all for a few months, so going ta the bathroom was harder than usual…”

 

Heavy tried not to make any audible sounds of distress at the torrent of words; he’d been fully aware that something was bothering the smaller mercenary, and should have anticipated such a loud, long-winded response. Scout usually gushed words out in vague, fragmented storylines, until he reached a key point… it was just, that as a non-native speaker of English, and coupled with the boy’s thick accent, it was quite hard to take. 

Often the reason he’d occasionally shoot the runner, during off-hours, for a moment of quiet.

  
  


“...-ich resulted in this bullshit trial, and I tell ya man, it really was a joke. ‘Cause they were tryin’ ta pin on us alla the shit dat crazy-ass mayor did, yeah? Like the pedo-sanctuary, or the mid-town dumpsite thing, or that one poor bastard who he made speak weird cartoon italian, yeah? Wasn’t even about all the shit we did at 2Fort… just stuff the mayor fucked up, and was blamin’ us for. Then Solly ‘n Demo come flying in. Freakin’ military nutbag  _ huttah _ ’s our lawyer’s neck, just as the guy was pointin’ out ta the mayor-slash-judge guy dat it’s illegal ta just decide ta hang people without havin’ a proper trial -which wasn’t what we were part of or nothin’...”

  
  


The Russian’s getting dizzy, drowning in the flood of words, but tries to tamp down on the urge to cover the batter’s mouth. Besides, the team now knew it never actually stops the younger mercenary, he just learned to talk AROUND the hand.

 

“...-ta fuckin’ HANG US!” Scout shouts, startling a nearby flock of galahs out of a tree as he flails both arms up emphatically, hastily snatching the handlebars again. “Wouldja fuckin’ believe it? Even before da damn trial started dey had stands outside with t-shirts and souvenirs for da hanging, so it ain’t like I shoulda been surprised, but… c’mon man, dat’s so stupid! We didn’t do none’a what they blamed us for! But no, dey fuckin’ marched us right outside -Solly ‘n Demo too, as well as Spy ‘n me- and put us up on this weird dock thing.”

  
  


It goes suddenly quiet. And, although Heavy’s ringing ears thank the universe for the momentary relief, the large mercenary started to get concerned the longer it lingered between them.

 

He’s about to say something, when Scout starts up again, quieter.

“Miss P turned up, right as dey got da nooses ‘bout our necks ‘n all, tryin’ ta argue on da side’a reason. Y’know, how everythin’ we was accused of… was da mayor’s fault. ‘Cept da mayor ain’t hearin’ none’a dat, and da trapdoor under me swung open… Miss P,  _ she’s stronger than she looks I tell ya _ , she held me up for a bit… then she got distracted arguin’ with da mayor.” 

 

Heavy grimaces, taking the implication for what it is. Every member of the team has been in fights, sometimes for their very lives, before joining RED (or BLU, one would assume)... but for the most part, they had the opportunity to fight back. Even if Respawn had been an option, to die when you can do nothing to save yourself, with your hands bound and away… while air was stolen from you… it would be unpleasant. Awful. 

 

“She got us out, though. Solly finally cut me down, or maybe Demo. Spy set one’a dem free first and walked off, while I was… playing puppet. Miss P found Pyro again and we all got shoved into a car, so’s she could tell us the resta the plan. Ain’t never going inta Teufort again, dat’s for sure… oh, and also, Miss P said  _ never drink the water dere _ , it’s got some kinda metal or something in it and dat’s why dey’re all batshit insane. Yeah? So’s anyway, she sends me, Solly ‘n Pyro ta come for you, and she took Demo ta find Sniper. Kinda hope dey’re okay.”

  
  


This was not where Heavy had anticipated the conversation would go, but it was intriguing nonetheless, and explained a lot about the demeanour of the others, when he had found them playing tag with the baby bears. Why Soldier was naked and covered in honey at the time, he had not asked. He still did not know. The Scout’s hotdog attire, had been self-explanatory.

  
  


“And then, of all things, we find Amelia Earhart’s plane in the middle of snow-hell - _ er, sorry, it was so freakin’ cold I thought we were gonna die _ \- and I got ta wear her hotdog suit!” Scout perks up, then sags. “Which sucked a bit, ‘cause her bones were all fragile when I tried ta hit da damn bears with ‘em, but I did find some blood ‘n stuff in the suit after the bear hit me… so that was cool.”

 

“That vas your own insides.” Heavy deadpanned, not really sure whether incredulity or confusion was the appropriate response. He’d carried the practically-dead American back to his house, blood seeping through the many layers of his warm suit. It was nothing to be delighted about.

  
  


“Oh, dat makes sense.” breathes Scout, like the big picture was all coming together. His tone brightens, “Hey Heavy, ya ever see ya own heart stop beatin’? Dat was pretty neat. None’a my brothers can say dat ever happened ta them… an’ if it did, I doubt it happened while dey were wearing Amelia Earhart’s hotdog costume, and fulla honey!”

  
  


Heavy was honestly starting to doubt the rest of his team even had the tiniest shred of sanity remaining in any part of their bodies. Certainly, this was not an accomplishment in his own eyes. Showing your enemy their beating heart, plucked from their chest before the light of life left their eyes,  _ yes _ … but seeing your own heart stop?  _ Not so much _ . 

It was the opposite, actually. To be discouraged.

  
  


“But yeah, after Miss P sprung us she kinda told us not ta call or write our families… ‘cause someone might track it back ta where we’re hiding, or something.” said the Scout, circling back to the original conversation so casually it was mystifying, unless you knew how the kid thought. Always jumping from one thread of conversation to another too fast for the mind to process, but easily moving back to a topic seamlessly, if he felt it needed elaborating on. 

 

_ Unless he was full of that radioactive soda, _ Heavy frowned in disgust. Then, nothing on earth could get the boy to stop speaking rapid-fire mixtures of accented slang and words so ludicrous-sounding they had to be made up on the spot, or focus on a singular thought for more than a fragment of a second. 

Engineer had made some sort of sentry-baseball hybrid to occupy the boy’s additional energy, should the match end just after he used the boost; and for the most part it worked. The key was not to engage, or Scout would talk your ear off in a jumbled mix of subjects, then fall asleep on you in a messy heap. 

Sometimes standing upright, with his eyes open… othertimes, in more compromising positions. Spy had many amusing photos of this phenomena.

  
  


Heavy blinked, realising that it was time for his input once more.

“Could you not have sent letter while in jail? Vhere did mamushka thing you vere all that time?”

  
  


Scout nearly tipped the bike over. “OH HELL NO!” he shouts. “Ya don’t know, but when Ma’s pregnant, she gets… real stressed out, or real dangerous. Every little thing dat goes wrong raises her blood pressure or somethin’, nearly lost me ‘n a few’a my brothers ‘cause’a it in da past. Dropping it on her dat I was in jail and likely gonna die ‘cause’a da mercenary work I  _ didn’t technically tell her I was doin’  _ out at Teufort… dat might just cause a few problems, yeah? Just sent her a letter tellin’ her dere’d been a change’a plans and I had ta stay in town ta help out a friend ‘cause dey’d hurt themselves real bad. Got enough brothers already behind bars and in dangerous sit-chew-ay-shuns for her ta worry about already, pallie.”

  
  


“Is good enough lie.” Heavy nods. “Vill you tell her now? Find out if you have little brother or sister?”

 

Scout shrugs, “Dunno. Don’t think we’re goin’ ta Boston anytime soon. It’s all upta Miss P what happens, man. Which sucks, ‘cause I kinda… wanted ta see everybody again. Just a little. ‘Cause it’s been forever! But it ain’t like da dragon-lady was gonna give us time off ta see the people we left behind; don’t think she understands what compassion is, or what  _ people _ are, actually. Got a bet with Demo that she’s secretly some sorta lizard alien in a saggy old lady suit…”

  
  


The loud laugh he lets out echoes off into the barren distances to either side, and Heavy claps an amused hand on the tiny Scout’s back; watching in amusement as the runner’s entire body dips from the weight, before adjusting. 

Heavy’s finally got a good balance going on the bike, although he would pay anything to just get off the damn thing for a moment or two; the seat is small, and even all these strangely personal conversations are not enough to distract from how numb his posterior is going.

  
  


Scout is humming, Heavy can feel it under his hand, and it is an amusing sensation. The Doktor used to do something similar, while writing up reports; with Heavy gently providing cathartic massage to the tense areas of those broad shoulders. Like  _ Sacha _ , the Medigun weighed a significant amount, and strained the man’s muscles; unless they were properly tended to. But for a medical man, the Doktor was terrible at keeping himself well and running… that was where Misha came in.

  
  


Heavy worried for his Doktor. The man was… he was not a child, but sometimes, like the Scout, he could rush headlong into situations without contemplating the outcome. He needed someone to provide a dissenting voice, if only for arguments’ sake, to make the Medic think more thoroughly about what he intended to do, before he went through with it.

Where was the German now? Heavy wondered, concerned. He could be anywhere, in any amount of danger, and Misha could not step in and help at a moment’s notice.

 

Yes, he had wanted to see his family so desperately… but, the permanent ceasefire had been so sudden, there had been no time to argue for Medic to be provided secret passage home to Siberia with Heavy. He regretted that, deeply. 

  
  


“So…” interjects Scout, jumping back to an earlier topic, rambling to fill the silence. “You and Medic, huh? I wouldn’t blame ya, ‘cause he’s sorta good looking, but like… did ya ever get worried he might, ya know, experiment on ya when ya slept? ‘Cause dat would freak me out… goin’ ta bed, and waking up with some sorta mutant dolphin-flipper instead’a ya arm or somethin’.”

 

Heavy smirks, knowing how to derail the subject immediately. “Nyet, leetle Scout… plenty of experimenting happened at night, just not of the mad science kind. Doktor particularly liked vhen I-...” 

 

The younger man was too busy shouting over him to notice that Heavy had intentionally trailed off. 

“ _ Oh my freakin’-. _ .. ya can’t just unload dat kinda shit on a guy, fatass, I don’t need ta know what kinda freaky shit turns da Doc on. We’re gonna be face-ta-face someday soon, when da gang’s all back together, and knowing what make him tick isn’t gonna help our interactions.”

 

Feeling slightly cruel, Heavy adds, “Da, much unloading on a guy involved if yo-...”

  
  


“IT’S AN EXPRESSION!” shrieks the Scout, probably wide-eyed and horrified. Bad enough the rooms ain’t sound-proofed enough back at base ta not know what was happening in other rooms (not all that much different ta home, really, he had seven brothers dat weren’t as sneaky as dey probably thought they were), without knowing exactly what was going on.

  
  


“Oh? Is leetle Scout embarrassed?” Heavy prods, knowing that the other is probably beet-red and regretting starting any of this conversation. After all the stolen sandviches and fat jokes, the older man was finally having his revenge in a most unexpected way. 

 

“N-no. Just weird ta hear ya say it, dat’s all.” The runner’s back is rigid; but the tone is calmer.

 

“Do not vorry, vhen you meet nice boy or girl or whatever-is-leetle-Pyro, you vill understand. Stop being so skittish about adult topics.” Heavy adds, attempting not to give away how much he loves this teasing banter. Back-and-forth, as he had learned from his time in America, was a staple of companionship and an interesting linguistic challenge to understand. Preying on the flaws and weaknesses of a friend, in a fun way; it seemed so odd, and yet, tended to strengthen relationships. 

 

Scout makes a strangled noise.  _ “I-...but-... y-...  _ **_what has Spy told ya_ ** ?” he finally squeaks, turning to glance back for a second.

  
  


“Nothing.” Admits Heavy, truthfully. “Am just not as stupid as team thinks. Have own two eyes, can tell you have not much experience vhen it comes to-...”

 

“I will throw ya off the bike with my own two hands if ya finish that sentence, pallie.” Scout threatens, fully aware they both knew he would never be able to pull such a stunt off. “Besides, looks like we’re nearly dere, anyways.” 

  
  


Heavy starts to question if he’s pushed it too far. The subject is sensitive for the young man, who is consistently around grown men with colourful pasts that involved more than a few relationships and rendezvous; which meant they often picked on the Scout about not having anything to contribute (outside of one highly dubious account involving seduction via fried chicken).

  
  


In actuality, it is Scout himself who breaks the silence.

“Hey, chucklehead, ya still dere? If ya fell off, shout or somethin’...” jokes the younger man. “And just ya wait, I’ll put ya Doc ta shame when I finally pick out a girl or guy or whatever Pyro’s class is, or like ten’a’each… then ya’ll be sad ya never decided ta have  _ a piece alla dis _ when I was single, buddy!”

 

A single interchange of words, and tension dissipates. It is truly amazing, from the Russian’s perspective; though he can’t resist poking fun. 

 

“Ah, da. Tiny leetle Scout is too manly for Heavy and good Doktor combined, you vill have to find someone else… is very sad,  _ am weeping back here _ . Sad indeed.” The emotive way the larger man delivers the line wrenches a snort out of the smaller. 

 

Scout leans over the handlebars as he laughs. 

  
  


“Ah, Heavy man, ya real funny when ya wanna be, ya know dat?” Scout beams, slowing the bike down somewhat, and preparing to stop. The day is searingly hot, without the constant rush of wind, and both men immediately begin to sweat like they’d just finished a day’s battle at Dustbowl. 

 

“Da, have heard from family this is true.” Heavy nods, grateful when the vehicle finally comes to a stop, and he can get off. Half of his body feels numb, but dissolves into painful pins and needles the minute he raises off the seat; the Russian groans and stretches.

 

“I feel ya, pallie.” grins the Scout, barely clicking down the bike’s stand before tossing off the helmet and going for a quick jog. Not too far, and in a circle, ending up back in front of Heavy in only a moment or so. “Ooooh, I am gonna feel that bike imprinted on my butt for weeks, we gotta get a car next time. At least dey’re usually comfy ‘n all.”

  
  


Heavy smiles indulgently as Scout starts rummaging through the bags for the satellite phone, to call Miss Pauling and let her in on where they were, both location-wise and in terms of the plan in general. He suddenly stops, and Heavy tenses; assuming that something has been spotted nearby, posing a threat to them. He steps closer, just in case.

  
  


But Scout blinks, and frowns at the sudden breach of his personal bubble. Then rolls his eyes at the big man, like Heavy was the one being overdramatic.

 

“We’re golden, big guy, stand down.” the runner mock-admonishes, smacking at the back of the phone’s battery panel, to see if brute force was the solution to a weak signal. He’s really just fidgeting, and they both know it. Heavy waits him out, as before.

  
  


Finally, the young man sighs, crosses both arms and stares pointedly anywhere but at the bigger man.

 

“Hey, Heavy?” he asks, quietly.

 

Raising an eyebrow, the other man simply responds, “Da?”

  
  


“Thanks for, I dunno, listenin’ ta me and stuff. Talkin’ helps me focus and shit.” Scout admits, looking to the Russian from the corner of his eyes.

  
  


A broad beam breaks out on Heavy’s face. “Da, was good talk. Anytime, little кролик.”

  
  


The runner smiles back, body losing its tension as he once-more began to fiddle with the satellite phone. Tranquil moment immediately broken as the Scout whirls around with an accusatory glare, “Wait, was dat last thing ya said Russian for  _ Rabbit _ ?”

  
Heavy’s deep, earthy laughter is all the confirmation the young man receives.


End file.
